


Les Deux Hommes

by Julie290



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mentions of Pedophilia, Will add more tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:25:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julie290/pseuds/Julie290
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern Day!AU. When Frodo's parents die in a boat accident, it's up to Bilbo, as next of kin, to take care of the seven-years-old boy. But his relatives, the Sackville-Baggins, don't think a homosexual is fit to raise a child, and fight him for custody. It's up to Thorin, the social worker, to determine what is best for little Frodo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Receiving Bad News

Chapter 1: Receiving Bad News

Putting his book down on the table, Bilbo asked, “Now, who can tell me what the flaws were in Richelieu's plan?”

His students shared unsure looks, no one raising his hand to answer. Pr Baggins sighed; was it so difficult to analyse what you were reading? Finally, a young red-haired girl raised her hand tentatively.

“Yes, Miss Tauriel?”

“It was complicated?”

“That's one of the flaws, yes,” Bilbo nodded. “The best plans are the simple ones. Can someone else remind me what he wanted to do?”

Only Tauriel made a move to answer, but he shook his head. “I'd like your classmates to try and find the answer themselves, Miss – if only to prove they were actually listening, and didn't come to class only to find warmth...”

He spotted a young boy who obviously wasn't paying any attention, busy as he was drawing something in his notebook.

“Mister Ori, are you by any chance drawing D'Artagnan?”

Blushing, Ori Murray looked up and shook his head negatively.

“I'm afraid I'm not, sir, but I do know the answer to your question. Cardinal Richelieu wanted to thwart the peace negotiations between France and England.”

“Indeed, and why was that?”

“Because King Louis was young, and Richelieu believed if there was a war, he could take the power from him, sir,” Ori replied with confidence. 

“Correct. I appreciate that you were following, Mister Ori, but please be kind enough to draw only in your free time, or during art classes. Maybe your friend Kili can now tell me what would have been simpler to achieve the Cardinal's goal?” Bilbo asked, startling the young man who had been chatting with another boy.

“I'm afraid I don't even know what goal that was, Mister Boggins,” Kili replied with a cheeky grin, and his teacher had to repress a smile of his own; the young man's cheerful manners were infectious. Forcing himself to scowl, he said, “I'll advise you to pay more attention to what I say, Mister Kili, for next time you can't tell what the class was talking about, it will cause you more homework. And my name is Baggins, as you full know,” he added, though knowing it was useless – Kili Nolan-Durin, just like his brother before, had taken to call him Mr Boggins teasingly. He turned his attention to the class.

“If you read the part where Lord Buckingham arrives at Versailles, you'll realise he is all but saying that the King of France's attire is out-fashioned. While it might be acceptable to say that to a friend of yours, saying this to the King is an insult. Considering insulting D'Artagnan's horse was cause to a duel, it shouldn't be a surprise to learn that insulting the King is cause to a war. All Richelieu had to do was to point that out...”

He was then interrupted by the ringing of his phone, which made him frown; the few persons who had that number knew they mustn't call him while at work.

“I'm sorry, children, but I have to answer; it's probably an emergency. I'll make it as short as I can.”

Leaving the room, he picked up his phone. “Yes?”

“Is this Mr Baggins?” an unknown voice asked.

“Yes, I'm Bilbo Baggins,” he replied impatiently. “Who's on the phone?”

“I'm officer Nori Murray. I'm sorry to say that your cousin, Drogo Baggins, and his wife Primula were involved in a ferry accident earlier today. They were taken to the hospital, but unfortunately they didn't make it there.”

Bilbo's free hand shot up to his mouth; inside the room, the few students who could see him from where they were seated started whispering with their classmates, wondering what was happening. Drogo and Primula... dead... Drogo, who'd been like a brother for him... Bilbo had been his best man at their wedding, a few years ago... He'd been there when Frodo had been born... Frodo... The policeman hadn't mentioned Frodo.

“What about their son?” he asked feverishly. “They have-had a son, Frodo, he's seven years old...”

“That's part of the reason why I'm calling you... You are the closest relative to the family, and as such, the boy's custody goes to you, if you agree to take him in...”

“Wha... yes, of course I agree! I'm not going to leave this lad alone!”

“Then you need to pick him up at his school, sir... and we need someone to identify the bodies...”

Bilbo put a hand on the wall to brace himself; was this man asking him to bring a boy of seven to see two corpses and confirm they were his parents?

“I'll come identify my cousins,” he said, his voice shaking. “I know where Frodo goes to school, I picked him up a few times in the past...”

The policeman told him where the bodies were kept, before hanging up. Looking at the time, Bilbo cursed; he had fifteen minutes before his young cousin left school. The man came back into the classroom, to see thirty faces looking at him with worry. 

“I'm sorry, everyone, but I have to end the class early today. You don't have homework for the next time.”

“Is everything alright, Mr Boggins?” Kili asked worriedly.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” the teacher answered, keeping his voice as firm as he could. “I just have an emergency.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo has to pick up Frodo at school and tell him the bad news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry for the long wait people! I never intended for it to be that long.... To make it up, I tried to make this chapter longer than the first.  
> Warning: Some homophobic talk in this chapter, and mention of pedophilia.

Chapter 2

As soon as the last student had left the classroom, Bilbo strode towards his car. It was all he could do not to break into a run, not wanting to be delayed by mundane questions such as where he was going in such a hurry.

He fretted all the way to Frodo's school, trying to figure out how you told a seven-years-old that his parents are dead, and how on earth he was supposed to take care of him permanently from now on. Did he even have stuff for children? A glance to the back of the car told him he still had the child seat that Frodo had used the last time he'd stayed with Bilbo. He would need clothes for him, though, and the stuffed toy he knew the lad couldn't sleep without. They would have to stop at Drogo's and Primula's house, the man realised with a pang in his heart. And since he wouldn't have time to do it before picking up the boy, they'd have to go there together.

Bilbo parked near the school, and went to stand outside the railing gate. It wasn't long before he saw Frodo emerge into the courtyard, laughing with his friends Merry and Pippin as they ran towards the exit. The teacher also spotted little Sam, trailing behind them as she usually did. Drogo and Primula had told him the lass was one year younger than the others, and desperately wanted to be friends with Frodo, for whom she seemed to have some kind of hero worship; the older lad, however, didn't seem that interested. He was nice to her, of course – Bilbo doubted that kid had a single mean bone in his body – but not overly friendly. He felt a little sorry for Sam, but it wasn't like he could force Frodo to be friends with her.

“Uncle Bilbo!” the boy called cheerfully when he spotted him, and ran towards him after saying goodbye to his friends.

“Why, hello, Frodo-lad,” the blonde man said with a smile. “How was your day at school?”

“It was awesome! Pippin found this centipede...”

Bilbo let the child blabber about the insect his friend had found and how awesome it had been, until they reached his car and Frodo asked all of a sudden:

“Why are you here? I thought Mom was supposed to pick me up today...”

The teacher felt his throat tighten; fighting back tears – crying in front of Frodo wouldn't help in the slightest – he opened the door and made him sit on the back seat, his little legs hanging outside of the car. Crouching in front of the boy so he would be at eye level with him, Bilbo explained:

“They had an accident with the ferry today, and they were very hurt. So they had to go away to stop hurting, you understand?”

“When are they coming back, then?” the child asked, and the blond man's heart clenched.

“They died, Frodo. It means they can never come back. I'm sorry, my boy... I truly am.”

 

The little boy was confused. Mom and Dad couldn't be dead; it was old people who died. Everyone knew that. Unless you got poisoned, like Snow White in the fairy tale, but Uncle Bilbo had said they had an accident. It didn't make sense; Mom and Dad weren't dead at all... He shook his head and told all that to Uncle Bilbo, who just looked very sad.

“I wish you were right, my boy,” he replied. “But it doesn't work like that, I'm afraid... You don't have to be old to die.”

Frodo wanted to scream, to say Uncle Bilbo was lying... But Uncle Bilbo never lied. He wouldn't answer some questions sometimes, but he didn't lie. He always said _If we tell children not to lie to us, we shouldn't lie to them either_. So it had to be true. Mom and Dad weren't coming back. Frodo started to cry, his soulders shaking as he sobbed, barely noticing when the older man took him in his arms. He wanted to go home with Mom and see Dad cooking dinner. He then had an awful realisation: he couldn't go home anymore. They didn't let children live alone when they were only seven, he knew as much. He started to hyperventilate, wondering about where he was going to live and if he would at least be allowed to take Peluche with him. He hoped he wouldn't have to go far away; he didn't want to leave his friends and Uncle Bilbo and... Seeing the boy was having a panic attack, Bilbo pulled away and asked him, puzzled:

“What's going on, Frodo? What are you afraid of?”

“Where am I going to go now?” the child asked, still having trouble breathing.

“Well, with me, of course. Your Mom and Dad didn't have any closer family, so you're going to live with me. We'll stop by your house, to get your things, and then you'll come with me to the flat where we'll arrange your room, and once we're done it should be time to make dinner. Alright?”

Frodo calmed himself listening to those plans, still sniffling, and wiped his eyes. Sitting properly on the child seat, he buckled up and waited for Uncle Bilbo to start the car.

 

Bilbo climbed behind the wheel, using the rear-view mirror to glance worriedly at his new young charge. After crying for a little while, Frodo had become entirely silent. He wasn't sure it was very healty, but didn't know what to do about it. They drove silently to the boy's house, and Bilbo groaned as he recgnized the car already parked there. _Looks like the vulture is already here_ , he thought. Not surprising, really; Lobelia had always had a knack for being the first to arrive when someone died. That, and finding the sore spot to press when she wanted to hurt someone – which she always did. Bilbo had learned to ignore everything she said; he did not, however, wish to submit Frodo to her verbal abuse. Unbcukling his seat belt, he turned towards the child and explained:

“Miss Lobelia is here. I want you to stay in the car until she's gone or until I come back, okay?”

Frodo nodded immediately. He didn't like Miss Lobelia anyway. She was always mean with everyone. Last time she'd been here, she had called him a baby for still sucking on his thumb. And she had told Mum she should put his stuffed toy in the bin.

“Don't worry,” Bilbo added with a smile. “I'll get your things anyway. Is there something of your Mom and Dad that you want to keep?”

The boy seemed surprised at the question, then nodded again.

“Mom's blue apron, for when she makes... made cakes with me on Sundays. And Dad's pipe.”

“I'll get them too, then,” his uncle promised.

With these words, he got out of the car, bracing himself for whatever Lobelia would throw at him this time, and walked into the house, using his key to unlock the door she'd locked from the inside.

He immediately heard her voice, talking about spoons; since he couldn't hear anyone else, he assumed she was on the phone, undoubtedly with her husband Otho. The voice was coming from the kitchen, so that's where he went first. He didn't want to give her an occasion to accuse him of sneaking around the house after all. She was talented enough at being hurtful without him providing her material for it.

“Couldn't even wait until Drogo and Primula were buried, could you Lobelia?” he asked when he entered the kitchen, and found her counting the silverware.

After a moment of surprise, she said in her phone, “I'll call you back, Otho,” and hung up before striking back.

“What about you? Looks like _you_ couldn't wait either.”

“Actually,” he replied without blinking, “I'm here for Frodo's stuff.”

“Don't tell me they gave him to _you_ ,” she said. “Anyone but you.”

“I'm next of kin, so yes, I'll be the one to take care of him now. He also wished to keep Primula's blue apron and Dogo's pipe,” he added, “so if you'll excuse me, I'll get those now and then move to his bedroom.”

Paying her no more mind, he started to open the cupboards, looking for the apron (he knew the pipe would be in the living room, since Primula didn't tolerate smoking in her kitchen) even as Lobelia kept talking.

“But they can't leave a child with you! You're not parent material!”

“Is it about me being gay again?” he asked absent-mindedly, finally getting his hands on the apron – hung between the fridge and the wall, as it was.

“Yes!” she screeched, following him when he moved to the living room, knowing Drogo's pipe would either be on the chimney or on the small table. “Of course it's about that! It's unnatural, and depraved, and how do we know you're not a danger to the child? It's bad enough they let your kind teach in schools...”

He turned abruptly, his eyes blazing with fury, causing her to instinctively take a step back. He gripped the front of her coat and growled, “Now listen very carefully, because I won't repeat myself. You can abuse me for my sexuality all you want; I don't give a shit. But if you even _try_ to imply I'm a pedophile again, you. Will. Not. Like the consequences. Am I clear?”

She squeaked, terrified, and nodded. Smiling cheerfully, he let go of her coat and said, “Good. Now if you don't mind, Frodo is waiting for me in the car. I wouldn't want him to get worried.”

He resumed the search, indeed finding the pipe on the table. He then went upstairs, took a suitcase from the wardrobe and started putting as many clothes as possible inside. On top of them, he put the apron, the pipe, and Frodo's stuffed toy that he found on the bed. Noticing a picture of the family on the child's nightstand, he took it as well, figuring the boy might want to keep it as another souvenir. Closing the case, he went downstairs and left without so much as a glance towards Lobelia.

Once outside, he took a deep breath to calm himself before walking to the car. Fodo was waiting, looking through the window. Bilbo smiled at him and raised the suitcase slightly so the child could see it. Once he reached the car, he put the suitcase in the boot, but not before removing the items Frodo had requested, as well as the stuffed toy. Looking closely, he found it was a cat.

Opening Frodo's car door, he handed him everything, watching his face light up a bit when he saw his stuffed cat. “You got Peluche!”

“Of course I did,” he chuckled, “I know you wouldn't sleep without him.”

“Her,” the boy corrected gravely. “It's French for 'stuffed toy', and it's a girl's name.”

“Where did you learn that?” Bilbo asked curiously.

“Arwen told me.”

Arwen, Bilbo knew, was a French student who babysat him when Drogo and Primula went out for the evening. He'd have to find her number, to tell her about the accident.

He would also need her services on evenings he had parent/teacher meetings and teacher conferences. There was so much he would need to do in the next few days... Arrange Drogo's and Primula's funerals, tell Frodo's school about the new situation, tell his own headmaster about it, try to make Frodo speak about the accident instead of bottling it all up... He sighed as he parked near his building.

“We're here, Frodo. I'll take your things from the car and we can arrange your bedroom, alright?”

The boy nodded, holding Peluche tightly as he took his schoolbag and got out of the car. “Can we have pizza tonight?” he asked hopefully, but Bilbo shook his head as he took the bag of clothes.

“Tomorrow's a school day. Pizza is for when we can stay up late. Tonight is courgette gratin, and you better eat it all, young man, if you want dessert.”

He usually ordered pizza when Frodo came for the week-end; but now the boy was going to live with him and he wasn't going to live off pizza and such. Best get used to it now. Once they got inside the flat, he didn't have to tell the lad to take his shoes off – Frodo knew the rules of the place and instantly sat down to untie his shoes and put on slippers while Bilbo hang both their coats.

The kid then ran towards his bedroom, putting his schoolbag at the foot of his desk and Peluche on top. He was already trying to reach the sheets when Bilbo arrived in the room. The man chuckled, pleased to see Frodo was still eager for something.

“Can I have the Pirates sheets, Uncle Bilbo?” he asked excitedly, jumping up and down to try and catch them. The last time he'd been here, he'd caused all the sheets to fall from the wardrobe, so Bilbo had moved them on a higher shelf out of his reach.

“You can if you stop jumping and let me get them for you,” he replied with a laugh.

Frodo stilled immediately, waiting for his uncle to hand him the sheets. When he grew up, he would be a pirate himself – a captain. And there would be no girls allowed on his ship because girls sucked. Except for Moms, but those couldn't be pirates anyway because they were so nice. He told all that to Uncle Bilbo as they made the bed, causing the man to laugh again.

“It's not funny!” Frodo argued. “It's true!”

“I'm sure you're right”, Bilbo said, raising his hands in surrender. “I'm just laughing because in a few years, you'll change your minds about girls.”

“I won't”, Frodo denied defiantly. “Girls are a pain. They never do anything fun. Always playing with their dolls or combing their hair. And they cry when we find bugs. And they never want to fight.”

“Did you try to fight with the girls, Frodo?” his uncle asked sternly. “You know you're not supposed to.”

“I know!” the boy pouted. “That's why they suck!”

“Well, what about Arwen?” he asked with a smile. “You like Arwen, don't you?”

“Don't be silly, Uncle. Arwen's not a girl,” his nephew said in a 'duh' tone. “She's a _woman_.”

Bilbo had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing at the reverent tone in which the last word was said.

“Oh, is she, now?”

“Yes,” Frodo nodded, “and when I grow up, I'll marry her and take her on my pirate ship.”

“Really. And does Arwen know of this plan?”

“Well... not yet?” Frodo said with a sheepish tone. “But I know she's going to agree.”

“Oh, well, if you know it then.”

Bilbo hid a smile. It seemed Frodo had a crush on his babysitter. That had to be the sweetest thing he'd ever heard.

“Do you have any homework?” he asked once the bed was done.

The boy nodded, “I need to practice writing some words.”

“You do that then, while I make dinner. Come to me if you need help, alright?”

After a last nod for Frodo, Bilbo left the room and headed towards the kitchen where he started to chop the courgettes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again, people. I promise you won't have to wait as long for the next chapter. I'm afraid it can't be online before December though. Nanowrimo is starting soon and I'm participating this year.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry again for the long hiatus, I just didn't have time.

Left alone, Frodo dutifully took his notebook and pencil case out of his schoolbag and opened the first to today's page. It was a Tuesday so there were five words to practice. Usually the boy liked practicing his writing, but now his eyes fell on the first word and his throat tightened. _Mummy._ That was when his loss really hit him: his parents weren't coming back. Ever. His little eyes started to sting and he left his chair, running towards his bed to hug his stuffed cat.

"They're dead, Peluche," Frodo told her as he started crying. "They're dead, and we'll never see them again."

That was how Bilbo found his nephew, some fifteen minutes later: curled up on his bed, hugging his stuffed cat to his face and crying into it.

"Frodo? What's wrong, my boy?"

His gaze fell on the open notebook on the desk; assuming Frodo's distress came from there, the man went to take a look - and understood the problem.

"Oh, Frodo..." he sighed, before sitting on the bed and placing a hand on the boy's head.

"I want them back, Uncle Bilbo! I want Mom and Dad to come back!"

"I know, lad. I know it hurts and you miss them. Look, you don't have to do your homework if it upsets you. I'll write to your teacher and let her know."

After a while, Frodo's sobbing stopped and his breathing evened out. Bilbo took this as a good sign and said, "I was coming to tell you dinner would be ready soon. Are you hungry?"

The boy nodded slightly.

"Okay, well come downstairs and help me set the table then."

Dinner was a quiet affair, Frodo clutching to his cat like a lifeline. Usually toys weren't allowed at the table, but Bilbo figured considering the boy's emotional state, he would let it slide just this once.

After his nephew had gone to bed, the man sat at his writing desk to get the letter ready.

_Mrs Cassidy_

_Please forgive Frodo for not doing his homework. He learned today that his parents died in a car accident, and as you can imagine is very upset._

_It falls to me, as next of kin, to take care of him._

_I thank you for understanding,_

_Bilbo Baggins_

Once he was alone in his own room, the grief that had built up inside him all day finally got the best of him. He took the first item that fell under his hand and hurled it across the room, turning the walls into an outlet for his anger. It lasted a good part of the night, until exhaustion got the best of him and he collapsed on his bed, fully dressed, at 3 in the morning.

His alarm woke him at 6 and he groggily opened his eyes. He wondered for a moment why he was so tired, and why he hadn't bothered to take off his clothes, until the events of the previous day came back to him. Then he hastily got up and prepared some new ones before going into the shower. 15 minutes later, he was fully dressed and grimacing at the sight of his face in the mirror - the bags under his eyes were more than obvious, and there was no way his students wouldn't pick up on that. There was nothing he could do about it, though, so he stopped wasting time and went downstairs to prepare breakfast, before going to Frodo's room to wake him up. Knocking, he waited a few seconds before coming in, and opening the flies to let the sun in.

"Wake up, Frodo," he said as he gently shook the boy. "It's 6:30, and you must get ready for school.

"I don't want to go," the five-years-old mumbled sleepily, making his cousin smile.

"Well, you have to," he replied. "I have to go to work and you can't stay here alone all day, now can you?"

"Arwen could come stay with me," Frodo argued with a yawn.

"I'm pretty sure Arwen has classes during the day, my lad. Important classes that she cannot miss because a little boy doesn't want to go to school."

Grudgingly, his nephew got out of bed and followed him downstairs, where they took breakfast while Bilbo explained to him:

"You'll eat lunch at school today, and I'll try to be here at 5 to pick you up. But I'm supposed to work until 5:30, so if I can't leave earlier I'll call Arwen and ask her to do it instead."

"Will I have to tell her about Mom and Dad?" the boy asked with a worried look.

"No, I'll do it myself," Bilbo reassured him. "You don't have to tell anyone if you don't want to."

Frodo considered this for a few minutes, before saying, "I think I'd like to tell Merry and Pippin."

"You can tell who you want, just like I said," his uncle replied with a smile. "I understand wanting to tell your friends, you know."

The boy gave him a small smile as well, before finishing his breakfast in silence. Looking at the time, Bilbo said,"You have ten minutes to get dressed - you'll take a bath when you come home. I'll put the letter for your teacher in your schoolbag."

He followed the child into his room to lay him out some clothes and slipped the letter in the front pocket of the bag, before driving him to school then finally going to work.

As he'd expected, the students didn't miss the bags under his eyes; it didn't help that his first class of the day was Kili Durin's, and that the boy had keen eyes. Bilbo managed to teach in relative peace for about an hour before the brunette raised his hand.

"Yes, Mister Kili?" he asked tiredly when he couldn't ignore him anymore.

"I just wanted to know if you were alright, sir," the boy said innocently.

Narrowing his eyes slightly - it was never a good sign when Kili was looking innocent -, the man answered.

"I'm perfectly fine, Mister Kili."

"It's just, you look like you didn't get much sleep last night," the boy continued, now smirking slightly. "Did your girlfriend keep you awake?"

There were catcalls coming from a few others students, while most others just kept their eyes on their books, trying to block out the disturbance until it went away. On an ordinary day, Bilbo would have rebuffed the boy with a polite variation of "none of your business"; but today he was tired, and grieving, and he didn't have the patience to deal with a seventeen-years-old troublemaker. So he said the first thing that came to his mind - the truth.

"If you must know, young man, I only slept for three hours because the phone call I received yesterday was to tell me that my cousin and his wife died in a car accident, and as next of kin I must take care of their five-years-old son, whom I had to tell the news of his parents' death. Now, if your curiosity is satisfied, can we please get back to Alexandre Dumas?"

The tirade, inappropriate as it was, had the double, unexpected effect of silencing Kili and making the whole class glare at the boy.

"Yes, sir," he said with a subdued tone.

When the class was over and the students were getting ready to leave, Bilbo noticed that Kili was waiting for everyone to get out of the room. Considering the boy was usually the first out of the door, the man assumed that he wanted to talk to him. Indeed, as soon as the last student was out, Kili came to his desk.

"Mr Baggins," he said, "I just... wanted to apologize for today. If I had known what was wrong, I wouldn't have disturbed the class. I'm sorry for your cousins, and for the little boy."

"I wish you wouldn't disturb the class, even when I'm not going through something harsh, Kili," Bilbo answered honestly. "But I accept your apology, and I'm sorry as well - it was inappropriate of me to share this with the class."

"I know I shouldn't act like that," the brunette acknowledged. "I'm just so bored in literature... "

"But not everyone is, and you stop some of your classmates from learning when you do that," the man pointed. Seeing the boy's face fall, he added, "I'll make you a deal. If you stop bothering the class, I won't ask you anything about what we're studying. That is, except for tests of course."

The young man gave him a bright smile and extended his hand.

"It's a deal, sir."

Chuckling, the teacher shook the offered limb before shooing him out of the door, stating he'd be late for his next class.

Bilbo used his lunch break to go see the headmaster about changing his schedule to better fit Frodo's. It felt weird to be on the other side of the desk, he thought briefly as his superior looked at him from his chair. He then proceeded to tell him about what had happened on the previous day, concluding with:

"I can of course ask his usual babysitter to pick him up more often at his school, but I think it would be best if I did it myself. If Frodo is like me, then he will worry about me for a while, and it would reassure him to see me as often as possible when he comes out of school."

"I see," Mister Sarumane replied. "Be assured that I sympathize with your loss - but I can't just change your schedule like that. It would mean re-organizing everyone's classes, and even if we could find a suitable organization, how do you think your colleagues would react, knowing they will have new hours just to suit one person? I'm sorry, Bilbo, but your nephew will have to live with waiting for you at home."

He hadn't really expected anything else, to be honest, so it wasn't such a disappointment to get a negative answer.

"I understand", he answered. "Thank you for your time, sir."

Though the headmaster somehow felt comfortable calling every teacher by their first name, no one would have even thought of doing the same - the man had too much of a presence. Even Kili and, before him, his brother Fili fell in line when Headmaster Sarumane was around.

He was about to call Arwen when his phone rang. He checked the number, but didn't recognize it. Shrugging, Bilbo picked up.

"Yes?"

"Am I talking to Mr Bilbo Baggins?"

"Yes, that's me. Can I know who's asking?"

"Mr Baggins, my name is Thorin Durin, I'm a social worker. It came to my attention that you recently took your cousin, Frodo Baggins, into custody."

"Yes, just yesterday, why?"

"Someone voiced concerns about your abilities to take care of such a young child. I'd like to make an appointment with you in order to talk, and see if your flat is suited to house your cousin."

Bilbo stifled his annoyance. This had Lobelia written all over, but he couldn't exactly snap at the man for doing his job.

"I understand. When do you want to meet?"

"Would tomorrow evening, 6 PM, suit you?"

The blonde man thought quickly. He left high school at 5 on Thursdays, which would leave him an hour to go home and change...

"That should be fine, as long as the meeting doesn't last too long - Frodo has to eat and go to bed early during the week."

"I understand perfectly. We'll make it as short as possible," the voice promised.

"Then tomorrow it is. I suppose you know where I live?"

"We've been given your address, yes."

"Then 6 PM at my flat. See you tomorrow, Mr Durin."

"Have a good day, Mr Baggins."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the abrupt break, but I really wanted to end this chapter with the phone call from Thorin. Next chapter, we (finally) get to meet him.
> 
> For the record, here's what my head cannon about Kili is: he's a nice kid, and he likes Bilbo; he's just a little troublemaker and doesn't like school much.
> 
> English still not my first language...

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, this is it for now, people. Don't expect regular updates; I also have a translation to work on, and exams to prepare IRL. I fully intend to pursue and finish this story, though – but I can't tell you how long it'll be. I have a vague idea of where I want this to go, but that's all.  
> Next chapter, Bilbo has to tell Frodo his parents aren't coming back...  
> Also, please keep in mind that I'm French, and English isn't my first language, so I might make a few mistakes here and there since I work with no beta; my usual beta isn't into Thilbo at all, so I don't want to burden her with this story. In short, if you see any mistakes, even apparently obvious ones, please be kind enough to point them to me without flaming. You'll help me get better.  
> Any flames will be deleted, but constructive criticism is always welcome.  
> Meaning of the title: The Two Men. 'Les Deux Hommes' is actually a Canadian song about two men who raise a child together. Those of you who understand French, feel free to check it out, it's on Youtube ;-)
> 
> This will be Thorin/Bilbo, as well as Dwalin/Ori later on. I also have someone in mind for Kili, though I won't say who – feel free to request other pairings, I'll try to work them in. I will NOT do Durincest though, nor incest of any kind for that matter. I also won't write smut – I don't feel confident enough in English to write this (cf note at the end), and I know personally some of my reviewers, whom I couldn't look in the face again if they read smut written by me.
> 
> The characters in this are all human, so there won't be Mpreg either; I find amusing the theory that male Hobbits can bear children, though I have trouble seeing where the fœtus develops; but as I have yet to see a pregnant man, no Mpreg in this.
> 
> This story is dedicated to my dear friend allan, who has been waiting for this for weeks.
> 
> Disclaimer: The title isn't mine, as I said; neither are any characters you may recognize from the book/movie.


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